


The Tale of E%ecutor Darkleer

by Squidhead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidhead/pseuds/Squidhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was about three sweeps old when I first saw them- at that point I was only a small wriggler, barely coming up to the door handles in my hive. I had heard the loud thumping of hooves on the old dirt road outside, and I ran outside, evading my exasperated lusus’s arms. I remember the dust stinging my eyes, finally clearing to reveal them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of E%ecutor Darkleer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paktigija](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paktigija/gifts).



I had always been enthralled with the idea of the military. The cavalreapers with their swift and total determination would wipe out even the most painstakingly crafted rebellion. They would perch almost perfectly on their hoofbeasts for days, then in one fell swoop would charge and destroy the enemy in one attack.

The subjuggalator’s ruthless abandon would take out dozens-no, hundreds-of miscreants in a series of days, and would not so much as flinch at the pure devastation. Ruffiannihialtors in their purely robust splendor; one could knock you out cold in a matter of seconds, even without weapons. As soon as you saw the muscular shoulders hovering above the crowd, you knew to clear out of the way- and to think, a full squadron of them? Enough to make even the most foolhardy of trolls reconsider. The threshecutioners were highly acclaimed- their sickles pointed and ready. But the class I revered above all was the archeradictator.

I was about three sweeps old when I first saw them- at that point I was only a small wriggler, barely coming up to the door handles in my hive. I had heard the loud thumping of hooves on the old dirt road outside, and I ran outside, evading my exasperated lusus’s arms. I remember the dust stinging my eyes, finally clearing to reveal them. And what a sight they were. There were about a hundred of them, all of them riding on white pristine horses that towered over me. Large bows were slung over their shoulders, matching the quivers almost bigger than me that were filled to the brim. They rode sternly to their destination- a field about a mile over.

  
By the time I had caught up with them, the battle had already started. And how glorious it was. Their strong arms held the bows elegantly, poised arrows sipping through the air. Their targets fell to the ground with a solid thud. Within a matter of minutes, the enemy lines were reduced to a few, who promptly ran. Then they left, leaving the battlefield with as much presence and grandeur as they had came. I sat in awe until my lusus came and dragged me home.

As soon as I got up the next morning, I crafted my own crude bow and arrows. Every day for the next several sweeps I would practice, determined to be an archeradictator.

Fast forward a couple sweeps- I enlisted. They stamped a number on my wrist and shot a chip my arm before shoving me and two hundred other idiots on one of the empresses’ bright red ships. We all sat in rows, against the walls, staring blankly at each other. Every so often, the brown-blooded commander would stomp down the aisles with his large clacking boots, calling out numbers and shoving them out the bay door.

About eighteen groups were left, each booting anywhere from six to thirty. Soon, it was just me and seven others.

  
In summary, I was skilled, but I was a wriggler with my head so far up my own arse I couldn’t see. Of course, since my ego so disproportionate it was bigger than the entire army, I didn’t ascend through the ranks as quickly as I thought I would. I was stuck. Looking back on it now I can see I was lucky to not be put on the front lines, but my time out in the country was not pleasant to me.

My group was a mixed group, meant to patrol the outskirts of an undeveloped part of Alternia. Complete emphasis on underdeveloped. We were ten strong-two grizzly veterans, five whiney recruits, a old woman on the brink of being culled, a scrawny juggalo and me. Five of us went on patrols, five of us stayed in the office. It was uneventful to say the least.

Occasionally there would be one rowdy person who wanted a fight, but other than that it was twenty four hours of nothing.  
The first time I talked to my coworker, Makara, we were both in the office filing away at some dull paperwork (I was, I couldn’t say the same for him). He shoved my papers away with his boney fingers. I looked up to see his ceremoniously painted face almost inches away from mine, messy curls framing his face.

  
“You wanna take a break, brother?” said, smiling.

  
“Of course I do, but I have work to finish.” I said, pulling the papers back. I resisted the urge to push him out of my face.

  
“Oh, come on. These ain’t due till next week. ‘Sides, if you really need to do them just take them with you.” He said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  
I was eventually coerced into going to the local tavern. He grew on me in the days (although I have no idea why). He would always put a hand on my shoulder and pull me away from the stifling work, and we would take a break and talk at the tavern. Weeks turned into months turned into pedigrees. We lived out our slow existence.

  
Then one day changed it all. We were both on patrol, and after three monotonous hours, his whining had brought us to the tavern like usual. Except this time, something was off. It was like the feeling you get when you see a usually busy place unusually empty. Dead silent; odd. He could tell too, I saw it in the way he tapped his fingers against the table and his shoulders tensed.

We sat in the corner, sipping our drinks. It was like this for a few minutes until a young man started speaking. He recalled something or other from a signless man about blood equality and “the hemomovement”. I rolled my eyes. They were just some crackpot theorists to me, but it looked like the rest of the tavern was in love with the ideals. The mostly inebriated crowd started getting louder and louder, completely fixated with him. My partner was a walking ball of nerves at this point, so I paid for our drinks and pulled him out of the loud tavern. We started walking back to our patrol.

  
“I have no idea how I got so motherfucking ten-“

He was interrupted by a loud crash and screech. We turned, our weapons at the ready. Nothing. That was when we saw the station completely engulfed in flames. Its windows had been broken in, and we found the old woman stationed with us limping out of the door. He ran towards her, while I was preoccupied with the group huddling around and hurling insults at us and the empire. I aimed my bow and arrow, poised to shoot anyone who would hurt me. A seedy man got closer, a broken bottle in his hands. I pulled back.

  
“WAIT!” Suddenly, a woman jumped in front, putting out her arms and guarding the boy. The crowd was somewhat lulled by her, and they moved back, as well as the young boy. A few murmurs spread in the crowd. Try as I might, she compelled me not to shoot. To this day I still have no reason for not shooting her. I just knew that I couldn’t.

  
“What will you gain from hurting the innocent?” she said. I lowered my bow.

  
“How are they innocent when my coworkers burn?” I said through gritted teeth.

  
“They were misguided- not from my boy’s words, but from a garbled message. And he is clearing this up-they’re getting them out as we speak.” she said, putting her arms down as the young boy ran away back into the crowd. “And I’ll take all of his followers away-you won’t have to deal with them.”

  
“Take them. And keep them away.” I should have killed her on the spot right then and there. But I didn’t. Perhaps it was the guilt and regret associated with murder. Perhaps she was really his guardian. So I let her and the crowds go. I jogged back to the headquarters, relieved to see the fire extinguished. It seemed like all of them made it out safe thanks to Makara.

But where was he? I asked one of the troops, she shrugged. The buildings smoke still billowed out, the some of the wood already collapsing. Could he have been in the wreckage? I bit my lip, dropping my arrows. I approached the unstable doorway.

“Makara?” I loudly called. I heard a grunt. I was about to run in, when I a saw a young woman (quite obviously one of his followers) selflessly pulling him out of the rubble. Maybe they all weren’t so bad? I banished the thought before grabbing the other side of him and helping her pull. We moved him to a bench where we sat silently, except for his various noises of pain.

  
“Thank you for saving him.” I said quietly, my hand turning almost white from Makara squeezing. She nodded, her hands migrating to his back. He whimpered slightly before his shoulders relaxed. She used some sort of salve. Mint green? It was odd, but it seemed to help him relax slightly.

  
“Mixture of leaves and mountain water. Here-” She said, brushing her hands on her pants and handing me the rest of the salve in a small tub. “You need to put it on him before day and after. Use it till it runs out.“ Then they left.

I was conflicted on them. On one hand, they saved my group. But on the other, those inspired by him were the ones who caused it. Anyway, I had more pressing matters to focus on. Such as nursing Makara to health while being shipped off to a base.

  
They kept him in the sick bay, and it was hard sitting there next to all the misery. But truth be told helping him out felt…nice. Different. Not something I had felt before, the only troll interaction I had experienced prior to enlistment being ordering my meals. So I diligently took care of his salve and made sure he was happy. I remember refusing the tech’s offer for help on multiple occasions, just so I could take care of him.

So it came as no surprise when he had a nightmare, that I was there to step in and sort of, well, pap him. It seems ridiculous reflecting on it, but that was how we became moirails. We stayed on the ship for a week before they moved us to a post briefly, which then we were separated.

I went to a middle tiered group of archeradictators and he went off to train with the subjuggalators. We both rose in our respective ranks-I eventually became the empresses’ prized executioner; he became the leader of his cult. I would occasionally see him on a business trip once in a long while and we would exchange letters.

My last trip to see him was the day before the famed Signless’s public execution. He had been attending the execution from the orders of the Condesce. Besides that, he wanted to be there for the “mirth of it all”. Something had changed in him. Maybe killing so many people had gone to his head, or maybe it was his religion, because his temperament was the exact opposite from when I had seen him last.

I think he was destined to eventually go mad, and it was only a matter of time before he flipped. Whatever the cause, that was the last time we talked. And I still remember it as clear as the sun.

  
The next day was the day of legend, the riddance of the empire’s distress. I remember walking up to the post with my arrow drawn. Thousands that watched, thousands witnessed his murder, the thousands saw blood on my hands. And I cringe at the memory of the arrow piercing him.

The screams of his small group and his final remarks were not important to me at the time. I had been stoic for hundreds and hundreds for deaths, so why would this one be any different? No, it was just another kill to add to my name, until I saw the younger woman who had saved Makara.

That’s when I broke down. I couldn’t do it. Not while she sat there on the ground, with tears running down her face. I had taken everything from her. Her family, her love, her life. I couldn’t take the last thing she had left; I couldn’t take her life.

So I lowered my bow. I remember my moirail’s disappointed and confused glare and the Condesce’s hard frown. And then I ran.

  
I found refuge in a cave recently after hiding in the thick inhabited forests. Much more luck than I deserve. And now I suppose this is where I’ll stay the rest of my life.


End file.
